Escape
by Descendinglight
Summary: Sandor is preparing to leave Kingslanding during the Battle of Blackwater alone, when his little bird flies back to him. What will happen to them both on their escape? Sandor/Sansa, SanSan book/tv show
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! First ASOIAF fic. This is based on both the books and the wow. Please give me reviews and feedback would really appreciate it. Also I'm unsure if I should remain in the third person of The Hound's point of view or alternate?**

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Sandor Clegane's towering form went unnoticed against the sea of screaming flock of people. Everything was alive with green flame. Lit up like the candles that flooded the castle at nights. The wildfire had scorched the Baratheon ships on the chest of the Blackwater . There had been fire everywhere. Sandor couldn't bare to stay any longer. Fuck the city. Fuck the kings guard. Fuck the king. Then there had been the little bird...

His drunken stupor had made a fool of himself. What was he thinking? He had waited in her room, wondering if she'd come with him like a green boy. Like a gallant knight aiding a damsel in distress. He was no gallant knight, though. The girl had been frightened. Naturally, he thought, his scar twitching. In his drunken form he'd threatened to kill her and ask for a song all the same. The girl's soft auburn hair a stark contrast against the green flame that had penetrated his vision only moments before. Tully-blue eyes had widened at him, threatening to pop from her skull. Any sane man would have taken her bloody and leave her there, riding off into the night amongst the chaos of the battle. He hadn't done that, though. The Hound could not be sure why. The caged little bird was the only slice of goodness in the whole bloody fucking kingdom. Now she was gone, not choosing to go with him on his travels.

Sandor was in the stables, preparing Stranger hastily. The stallion was as agitated as he at the chaos surrounding them, his dark large eyes flickering with green flames. The shrill sounds coming from his nostrils and his stomping hooves drowned out against the sounds of battle spurred Sandor to work quicker. All that could be heard was screaming and the sound of men being burnt alive. The Hounds forehead brimmed with a sheen of sweat as his large fingers prepare the saddle. It was not often The Hound was afraid, most men dare say they believed it to be impossible. He was afraid then, though. Afraid of the fire and afraid for the little bird. What would become of her? Why couldn't she have just said yes? Calm yourself, dog. You are a damaged man, a frightening sight to a pretty little thing like her. No wonder she would be afraid. Growling, mainly to himself, he continued to fix the saddle, his mind never straying too far away from the little bird.

The hitch of a breath behind him sent his adrenaline soaring. His hand instinctively grasping the heavy weight of his sword, turning around quickly and sinking it in the man's shoulder. A wave of relief overcame him for a brief moment, a smirk appearing on his scarred face, until the man wailed and shrieked with the girlish tone of Sansa Stark's voice.

His vision cleared of its red anger, replaced with disbelief. The smirk on his face faltered, the green lights reflecting on her pale skin, partially hidden beneath her cloak. His cloak. He hasn't a chance to chastise her for wearing such an obvious thing during a battle. Her shrieks ceased suddenly. The girl's small and slender body fell forward onto his front, going limp. The weight of a feather. The warmth of her body was foreign to him, how many men would kill for this chance? Many, him included. The familiar scent and warmth of blood trickled underneath her dress's sleeve,slowly staining the white fabric of his cloak, red pools forming on the light hay beneath. The girl had passed out from the pain she surely had never endured before. Worry laced Sandor's very blood, though he attempted to push it away. He had long since dropped his sword in shock, quarter of it soaked in her blood. The little bird's blood.

"Bugger it."

There was no time. No time to think or act. He set her light and injured body down in the hay, ignoring the feeling of emptiness that came with it. The Hound quickly fastened the reigns and saddle, his body alive with adrenaline and worry. Glancing at the girl, her arms splayed out and pouted lips open, he knew there was no other choice. In a quick movement, the girl was hoisted around his shoulder, one hand cupping the back of her legs to keep her steady. He picked up his sword, sheathing it away. In one fluid moment, he mounted Stranger.

It was an odd feeling to have anyone else on his horse with him. He leant Sansa down so that she was facing him, or his chest rather. Despite amidst all the noise and carnage, Sandor Clegane could not dare to look away from the sight. Her milk skin looked mesmerising. The cloak's hood had flipped back from her head on its own accord. The shadow of her long lashes against the green light made his stomach twist in odd ways. Her long legs, he could feel, inches away from him. How he longed for another song. The effects of his wine were still prominent and he was sure he would look frightful had the girl awakened then and there. Don't be silly dog, you would look frightful drunk or not.

He did not know how long he stared at her unconscious form for. It was only when he noticed the blood spots progressively becoming larger on his cloak that he became alert again. It reminded him of when he would gut a man in the snow. Seven fucking hells. How much damage had he done to her? Guilt swarmed his very being, concern complimenting it. He was thankful it hadn't been her chest or she surely would be dead.

Glancing at the cloak he knew it would be too obvious, too recognisable . Instead, he reached back into one of his large satchels , bringing one of the fur blankets he'd taken. The Hound quickly placed it around her shoulders, flicking the hood over her head. It deemed decent enough to hide her trademark features in the green light. As for Sandor, he took his own grey cloak he had brought with him and flicked the hood down over his face.

He sheathed his sword in one hand and held the reigns with the other, entrapping the little bird. Caged again, he mused. Kicking Stranger harshly, the horse whined and galloped quick as ever.

Leaving Kingslanding was easy enough. Men had left their posts just as he had moments before the wildfire occurred, believing Stannis to be the victor of this battle. So much for loyalty. The Hound passed a brute-looking soldier, short and built as he. In one swift moment he relinquished his sword from its agonising stand-still, plunging it into the mans stomach and tearing it as Sandor rode by. He need not see the body drop, he knew he was dead. There were more civilians than there were soldiers, most were amongst the battle. Women with babes young enough to be sucking on their teats ran with them in their arms. Men same as the ones that had targeted Sansa during the bread riots were certainly looking for women to fuck, willing or not. During battle, knight or not, blood ran high.

They had eventually made it at least, past the main of kings landing and the red keep , outside the gates. Sandor knew that following the kings road would be certain suicide. The woods that surrounded it however, if they got deep enough, would do.

The light of the morning was beginning to shine through the transparent black sky. A sense of relief withered its way into his entire body as they ventured further and further away from the green fire. The effects of his wine were warding off, and the reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on him. _Stupid bloody bird._ What had she been thinking? Not to mention that white cloak. His scar twitched and his eyes hardened at the idea of her stupidity. As the morning light began to settle on blue hues against her skin, Sandor feared the worst. The cloak was now covered in blood on the side of her injury. He needed to look at it. If he had used any muster of strength that he usually did when he attempted to kill someone, the bird's soft skin would have been pierced so easily, not to mention the muscle and fat beneath. Anger blazed within him, as much at himself as her. The guilt ate away at him.

He carried on riding for another hour or so until he felt it was safe enough to settle for a while. The topic of Sansa's injury burning in his mind. The girl's light body bounced and jolted with each hoof that moved. The Hound located a tree in the woods, large enough to prop her against. Bringing Stranger to a stop, he grabbed the bird by her waist, marvelling at how small it was. Both his hands encircled it, realising she had gotten rid of her corset, smart girl, as his fingers pressed into soft skin beneath the bodice of her dress. His mouth was suddenly dry. _Calm, dog._ He lifted her down with great ease, despite his muscles aching from battle. His shoes crunched beneath the ground, steadying her against him. Slowly, he pulled her towards the tree, settling her down and pulling the blanket back from her face. His breath hitched and all movement stopped, her face was too pale. The lovely flush she seemed to constantly have was gone, replaced by a greyish undertone. Beneath her eyes were sunken in. Sandor tore himself away and tied Stranger to a nearby tree, cursing himself for not bothering to get any medicines. Slowly he made his way back to Sansa, his shoes crunching atop the ground. His heart almost stopped in his chest as he made his way over to her, she looked so like a corpse.

The Hound settled himself next to her legs, on the side of her injury. Carefully, he peeled back the grey blanket, placing it on her legs instead. He unclasped the blasted cloak, trying his best to ignore the amount of red soaking it and tossed it aside. Her dress's blue sleeve was red from shoulder to wrist, the unmistakable smell of copper stale blood hit his nostrils. _What have I done to you, little bird?_

Sandor narrowed his eyes as he tore the sleeve and shoulder off of her dress with his knife. Uncaring for any modesties the girl may have. He clenched his teeth to avoid peering at her collarbones and elegant neck. This wasn't hard to do though, the injury on her shoulder was awful. He winced as he peered at it, it was a large gash, still slightly bleeding and not so unlike the ones he saw on survivors of battles - and victims. The skin had been pierced so badly that he was sure he could see the white piece of bone peeping out from beneath torn muscle. It looked unnatural against his little bird's cream skin. The fact that he had done it to her only set him more on edge and showered him with guilt. Her chest rose and fell in uneven ways, her warm sweet breath tickling his face.

Sandor set to work. He grabbed the skin of water from his belt, dampening the clean part of his white cloak with it and pressing it onto her exposed skin. He dabbed at it, wiping away the crusted blood and the new alike. Slowly the crimson faded away until her soft skin was visible again. He was careful not to touch the wound. He couldn't risk an infection. As he continued to wipe away, he was reminded of the time he dabbed off the blood of her lip. He had watched the courageous bird contemplate killing Joffrey by throwing him down from the pillar. He was sure she would take her own life too. A twinge of something foreign hit his stomach then. He couldn't lose her, not now. As he finished cleaning the wound he settled the cloak down, allowing himself as small glance at her face again while she was unconscious.

Her blue eyes watched him warily, laced with fear and her mouth agape.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to the reviews! I think I'll keep it in the Hounds POV for now :). Please leave some feedback on this chapter, hope you enjoy!**

The little bird's reaction was swift, much like a bird escaping the clutches of a hand. The Hound had predicted her reaction to him, as he always did with their little talks. The second the girl pressed her hand down onto the ground to gain aid in her standing and running away, a sharp shriek came from deep within her throat. The Hound's large hand came down onto her mouth the second the squawk began. The muffled cry and hot breath against his calloused skin sent a wave of shivers down his skin not unlike when he had fever.

''Careful, girl.'' The Hound growled.

The woods thus far had been isolated, but there was no telling what dangers lurked about. What fiends were hiding. The sound of a girl's shriek in them was not uncommon, but it certainly attracted attention. He felt his grip on the bottom half of her face tighten at the idea of someone happening upon the little bird, injured and afraid. She was like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. The pretty little dainty head and slim, firm body of hers wrapped up in her now-torn dress would be a death sentence. A fire ignited in the pit of his stomach at the idea of another dim-wit even seeing her this way. The Hound hadn't realised how tight his grip on the girl's face had been until he noticed the way her plump cheeks had caved in around the edges of his fingertips. Loosening his grip, he waited until finally the girl was merely whimpering. Sandor took it as his chance to warn her. He knelt himself down so that his face was merely a few inches above hers, his larger body towering over her tiny one. Her face attempted to turn away from him, but he pulled it back to face his neck. Good, he thought. Let her be as afraid as she pleases. It will serve you better so that she will listen to you.

''Listen to me girl, you make another noise like that again and I'll give you a real reason to make it a third time.'' The threat in his voice and words was obvious, needed even, yet he felt his stomach coil as she still from fright beneath him. No doubt her blood's run cold. ''There are men in these woods who will fuck you bloody and leave you for dead like the ones you ran into before. Shut up, understand _my lady?''_

Sandor couldn't help but shake her face as he finished speaking. The girl best have that idea ingrained into her mind. It was time she stopped living in a bloody fairy-tale where all men with smiles are gallant knights. The girl's sounds had long since turned silent. He glanced below to see her chest rising and falling in rapid ways. Her auburn hair fell in waves as she nodded her head, yes. Still, The Hound kept his hand there, he could not say why. He allowed the silence to etch his words in her mind. The only sounds that could be heard was the intake and outtake of their breathing. His face remained above hers, allowing him to smell the faint lemon scent in her hair, breathing it in. Then, he let go of her face and moved back.

The girl's frightful eyes glanced at the ground instead of his face, which he was accustomed to. Her body was shaking and whether it was from the wound or fear he could not tell. Sandor Clegane watched her anyway, drinking in the sight of her. Finally, the girl's eyes fell on her wound. Sandor's body tensed, ready for the lady to wail at the sight but it did not come. Instead, her mouth remained agape, an indescribable expression on her face. A very faint flush appeared on her cheeks and he furrowed his brows. What the fuck could she be blushing about in the likes of this hour? Then it dawned on him. He had torn her lady's dress's sleeve off to reveal the wound. Perhaps she thought he had already tried to take her.

''Needed to see the wound.'' The Hound cleared his throat and stood fast, ''I wasn't planning on staying here very long, girl. We'll venture further and then rest. We will find a maester to tend to your _broken wing_.''

The girl merely nodded, not complaining for a moment, The Hound scoffed at her courtesies knowing full well the pain was unbearable enough just sitting. Her blue eyes had pricked with tears from it, a glassy sheen taking over her pretty orbs. As he rose from his kneeling position she attempted to do the same, surely not wanting to anger a dog, afraid he may bite. The effort was obviously pointless. Sandor felt himself rolling his eyes and his scar twitching as a broken sob escape her pink lips. Without warning he leant down and hurled her over his shoulder again, careful only to touch her waist. With the other hand he took the blanket and cloak from the ground, not wishing to leave evidence. The girl was as light as a feather against his shoulder. The unmistakeable hitch of breath that came from her throat caused his mouth to twitch.

Soon they were on Stranger, the little bird facing properly this time with the blanket he had tossed n her covering most of her body. How he was to survive the constant torment of her arse practically against him was beyond himself. Now that she was awake, he would have to keep it at bay. He was merely glad her hair wasn't showing, for reasons uncertain to him the little bird's hair had always been a favourite feature of hers. Even despite the red colour, _so alike to flame._ The girl remained silent, not chirping once. His previous words had obviously proved warning. Sandor watched her cloaked form in front of him gently bobbing as the horse galloped. He found himself longing to reach out and touch her like some green boy. They rode for hours in complete silence. He found himself wandering what she must be thinking of her situation.

Soon it was almost nightfall, the sun beginning to rest. Surprisingly, the girl had not rested on their journey, instead she remained strictly sitting up. _She didn't want to be close to you, dog._ As The Hound noticed a spot that would serve well enough for their rest, he took Stranger to a halt. The sudden stop had the little bird become even more alert.

''A-are we resting here?'' The little bird finally chirped, choosing to not turn around to face him.

''Aye. Unless the lady has another idea. ''

Sandor knew that would have left her flustered, knowing that a pink flush would have coloured her cheeks. He was surprised that Joffrey hadn't put one of his spawn in her belly by now, marriage or not. Months of being by his side on the throne, hearing of all the despicable things he wanted to do to the innocent girl. It had been agonising, not being able to smash the cunt's head into the wall.

''No, ser.'' The bird whispered, hanging her head low.

Sandor grunted and dropped from the saddle, before reaching up for her waist and pulling her down with him. As soon as her feet hit the ground he got to work on tying Stranger to a nearby tree. Though he and the beast had respect for each other at times, he would not put it past him to run during the night. The horse's coat had a fine sheen of sweat on it, making the black stand out viciously. He could feel the girl's eyes on him. Daring little one tonight, he mused.

When he turned she had her hood down, staring at him and Stranger curiously. A surge of guilt struck his belly as he saw the unmistakeable red finger marks where he had grabbed her cheek and mouth. Pushing it down, he hardened his eyes as he looked at her.

''See something you like?'' He grumbled, staring blatantly into her eyes.

''N-no, ser. It's just, I feel very weak…'' The little bird trailed off, her body rocking.

I'm no bloody Ser, he would have said, had it not been for how sickly she appeared. Pale as moonlight and tired as death himself. Her eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion taking the better of her.

Sandor walked closer, nodding.

''I'll go collect firewood, you wait here an-''

The tug from a dainty hand on his own wrist made him cease his words. The little bird never dared touch him, a dog, before. Looking down at her he could see the sheer plead in her tully-blue eyes, her brows furrowed in fear.

''Don't leave me.''

Seven hells. Those words saddened him, dare he admit. Of course, he had no doubt his previous words about men in the woods had caused a fear inside her, but he was certain that wasn't all she was afraid of. She is afraid of your protection leaving her, afraid of being sent back to the boy King. The way she had set it wasn't of her usual tone, of course it still was laced with fear but the girl had a stubborn tone about her. The words weren't stuttered, they were clear. Gulping as she held onto him, he recoiled back until her touch was gone.

''Can you walk?''

The little bird let out a sigh of relief, nodding her head eagerly. The pain of her wound was obvious as she contorted her face, but she saved her speech. He grunted as a small gesture and began to search for firewood. He was glad he had stowed away some hard cheese and old meat. For such a small person, the little bird managed to scare any possible later game away, the ground beneath her crunching loudly. It was an odd thing to feel her presence behind him, one he could not get used to. He dared not look back at her. Eventually, he had found enough sticks to create a dreaded fire. Though he always made one on his travels, he hated to make one in front of her. No matter how small the flame it always engulfed his very being. Once he had enough he turned around, ready to return back to Stranger with the little bird in tow.

'' ** _Why. Do. You. Have. Those_**?'' The Hound seethed, enraged at the slight a pile of sticks folded across her chest with one arm. The pain on her face from obviously having used the other arm at least once to pick up the wood only made his eyes harden more. Seven fucking hells.

Sandor stalked towards her, dropping his own firewood in replace of his rage. His blood was boiling. How dare she risk harming herself further? Had he told her to collect firewood as well? _No_. Had she bloody well done it anyway? _Yes_. Sandor was incapable of thinking as he reached out and squeezed her good shoulder, holding her in place. The girl was cowering and making stumbled apologies, obviously confused at his rage – which only made his blood boil more. His other hand came up to grasp her chin, tilting her head and her eyes towards him. He didn't miss the fact her eyes hovered over his scarred side.

''DO YOU WANT TO DIE GIRL?!'' He snarled into her face, well aware she was cowering beneath his gaze and hold.

''N-no ser, I merely thought that you might wan-'' She stuttered quietly, his eyes glared daggers into her.

''I am no ser.'' He snarled as he relinquished his grip going back to pick his firewood up and stalking back towards Stranger, suddenly not caring if she followed or not.

Of course, the little bird dutily did so anyway. Her steps were now much more cautious. He tossed them aside a little ways away from Stranger and dug the wineskin from his hip, uncapping the lid and tossing back a hefty gulp of the sour red. The sour liquid slid down his throat effortlessly, his tastebuds accustomed to it. What he would give to have twenty more of these packed away with him. He briefly heard the little bird set her firewood down quietly, as did her body onto the ground. From the corner of his eye he could see her bent over slightly, her finger prodding at the cloak hiding her wounded shoulder.

''Don't touch it. You don't want infection.'' Sandor muttered darkly. The girl stopped her movements and moved her hand away, looking at the ground. Her long auburn hair looked more wild than usual, the winds seeing to it well.

The Hound chugged another gulp of the sour red and breathed a heavy sigh. The sky was almost completely dark now, the sun disappearing quickly. Despite his anger at the bird for endangering herself more, he needed to make that fire. Placing the wineskin back on his side he turned to the pile of sticks he'd found, slowly tending to the fire. His body tensed as the flame eventually came to life. As it did, he ventured to his saddle, pulling the one bedroll he'd packed. He tossed it carelessly to the side of the girl's still body. He was certain the little bird had never slept under the stars before, vulnerable and in the cold. Not to mention her wound. It was better off for her sake if she had the bedroll.

''My thanks, my lord.'' The little bird, ever a good girl muttering her courtesies. Sandor snorted as he settled his arse down a good metre away from the fire he'd begun.

For a little while they both sat there, their faces illuminated by the warm light. Silence, least then, was peaceful. Though Sandor was still enraged Sansa had tried to pick up the wood, letting himself relax was allowing him to become relaxed as well. Not to mention his wineskin that he occasionally would take a swig of. The bird had moved ontop of the bedroll, the arm of her injured shoulder hanging awkwardly. Sandor's eyes watched each flicker of the flames, becoming distracted by it. Though, through it he could partially see Sansa, prodding gently at her cloak. He watched her carefully, watching her face twist and brows furrow.

''W-will it scar?'' Her face immediately becoming pink as she remembered who she was speaking to. Sandor Clegane was not unaccustomed to scars.

The Hound barked a dog-like laugh at her.

''Aye. Nothing like my own. What's the matter, girl? A gallant knight or lord will still love you endlessly.'' The Hound's voice had taken on a cruel edge, hoping to play with the girl's fantasies of being wed or rescued by a handsome man. Though he knew for certain she would be in the future, the likelihood of him being a kind creature was low.

''Love is for children.'' Sansa replied flatly, her voice low and dark. The words took Sandor aback, was this really his little bird speaking?

''Has the little bird given up on the love that pretty boys sing of already?''

''I thought that I loved knights. I thought that I loved Joffrey. Love is for children.'' And for that, she lay down on her bedroll, turning onto good shoulder, facing away from The Hound and falling fast asleep.

The Hound remained his focus on her sleeping form. The words churning over and over again in his head. Had he been a finer man, he may have squabbled her claim but how could he? He had watched while Joffrey ordered the knights to abuse the bird and make her cream skin turn purple. Eyes hardening against the flicker of the flame, he set himself down against the rough ground. Before he could grasp the next thoughts in his head, his body fell prey to his exhausted state. He wished he'd remembered to dress Sansa's wound.


End file.
